Hitchhiker

Hitchhiker

Part One of an Alpha Male/beta boy Fantasy

By Everett

The spray from the semi ahead of me mixed with the lightly falling rain on my windshield as I sped along the highway. I was getting drowsy when the red glare of a diner sign ahead jarred me awake. EATS it blinked rhythmically. I thought it might be prudent to stop even though I wasn't especially hungry. If nothing else, coffee might do me some good. I lifted the turn signal control to notify my fellow travelers that I was leaving their company for a late supper.

The gravel of the large parking lot crunched under my tires as I pulled up to the diner's front door. On entering I found the place eerily quiet for such a large brightly lit space. Few tables were occupied, mostly by customers who ate alone. Some had two or more folks who talked with each other in hushed tones.

I sat at a booth under the windows which spanned the front wall and ordered a light meal. I faced a pretty blond in the next booth. Each time I looked at him over the backs of the seats that separated us his eyes darted to the windows on his right or down to his lap. To prove my theory that he was checking me out, I leaned back and flexed the biceps of my big right arm, stretching the thin material of my tight fitting tee to its limit. He took it all in before he realized he was staring and averted his eyes. This was all I needed.

I went to the cashier's station and paid my tab, returned to my table and tossed down a tip. I approached the boy.

“Mind if I join you?” I asked and sat without waiting for an answer.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Nuthin',” I lied. “I noticed that you aren't eating. Did you have enough supper?”

“Pert near,” he replied.

“I don't know what that means,” I said.

“It means that I had something to eat but that I could have had more.”

“Short of cash?” I asked.

“You could say that,” he admitted.

“How about if I spring for dessert?” I asked. “Pie and ice cream maybe.”

“Why would you do that?” he asked.

“'Cause I'm a nice guy,” I said, “and 'cause we both could take a little more on board.”

I signaled to the waitress. She approached our booth. “Something more?” she asked sweetly.

“Yeah,”I answered. “I'll have a slab of cherry pie and a dip of vanilla ice cream.”

“How about you, Sweetie?” she asked the boy.

“He'll have what I'm having,” I answered for him.

We ate most of our pie in silence before I asked, “Where're you headed?”

“Wherever my next ride takes me,” he answered.

“That's not very specific,” I noted. “If you don't know where you're going you're gonna have a hard time getting there.”

“I guess,” he replied.

“I don't see any travelin' gear,” I observed. “Are you a runaway?”

“I'm eighteen years old,” he told me with surprising vehemence. “I can go anywhere I want, when I want, and I don't have to answer to anyone.”

“OK,” I said in a tone intended to settle him down. “Well, I'm headed west myself.

“If you need a ride,” I added.

“I could use a ride . . . to someplace.”

“There's just one thing,” I said. “You say you're eighteen. You look younger to me.”

Without speaking, he took his billfold from the back pocket of his jeans and laid his plastic encased driver's license on the table between us. I looked at the license and then back at him. “OK,” I said. “It's nice to know.

“I told you already. I'm a nice guy. And I am. Just mark it down as me being my nice, generous self.”

I slapped my hands on the table top as I stood. “Let's do it,” I said in a loud voice. I probably startled some of the other diners with my outburst, but none of my enthusiasm seemed to transfer to the boy.

* * *

“So, tell me: Why are you hitching around the country?” I asked as we rode along.

“To get away from home,” he said.

“Sounds ominous.”

“I guess,” he said.

“Care to tell me your story?”

“Not much to tell,” he said. “My mom kicked me out of the house. She thought I was doing something wrong, but it was really my step-father.”

“That's a short story,” I observed.

“I guess,” he said again.

“So, your mom kicked you out of the house and you've been kicking around since then?”

“Yeah. Hitching rides when I could, but I don't really have anywhere to go.”

I was saddened by the boy's story and, not having a clue of what to say I let it drop. I drove in silence and the boy fell asleep, or pretended to.

It was after midnight when I pulled up to a shabby looking motel. The old man at the desk looked me over first, and then the boy. “Only have one room left,” he said, “And it has only one bed.”

“Double?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” he grunted.

“That'll do,” I told him.

Our room was neat and clean enough. “It's been a long day,” I said. I pulled my tee over my head and kicked my loafers from my feet. “That's better,” I sighed.

The boy stood in front of me. “Your turn,” I said to him. “Get naked.”

He stared open-mouthed at me in dumb disbelief. “Are you deaf?” I asked.

“I'm not gonna get naked,” he said.

I slapped his face. He was startled by the slap but didn't object. “You'll do whatever I tell you to do, Shit Face,” I said, “and I told you to get naked. So do it.”

He started to slowly unbutton his shirt.

“Hurry up, Fucker,” I said.

“My name's Kevin,” he told me.

“I don't give a fuck what your name is,” I said. “You don't have a name. I might call you 'Hey You,' or 'Fuck Face,' or anything else that comes to mind. But whatever I call you, and whenever I call you, you will answer me immediately, and you will call me 'Sir.' Do you understand that?”

“Yeah,” he said almost inaudibly.

“Speak up, Boy. I can't hear you,” I said forcefully.

“Yeah,” he repeated louder.

I slapped him again. “Answer me in the way I told you to.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said.

“All right, Shit. Get naked, and do it now.

When he was undressed, he stood awkwardly in the center of the room. I looked him over. He was skinny. His penis was a pretty little thing, but 'little' was the operative word. It was considerably smaller than adult size. “What do you call this thing?” I said, and I slapped it with my right hand and then with my left. He cried out, maybe in pain but probably in surprise. It bobbed briefly in front of him. “You don't call it a cock, do you?”

“No, Sir,” he said, giving me the answer he knew I expected.

“What is it then? Is it your pee pee?”

“I guess so, Sir.”

“I like the name dicklet. I'll call it your dicklet for now.

“Tell me. Do you ever play with your dicklet? Do you ever get it hard and jack it until it spits out white boy-juice?”

“I don't know, Sir.”

“What? Are you stupid as well as deaf?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then answer my question.”

“Sometimes I do, Sir,” he admitted.

“Well,” I said. “If I ever see you playing with that thing, you will be punished.”

“Punished, Sir?”

“Punished,” I reiterated. “If I ever catch you even touching it I may spank your pretty little ass until it glows bright red or punish you in some other way that comes to my mind. I might want to play with it myself sometime, but it's off limits to you. Do you understand that?”

“I suppose so,” he said.

I slapped his face and said, “What did I tell you, you miserable little turd? Try again.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said. “I understand.”

“Good.

“I noticed you checking me out back there at the diner.” I expanded my chest and flexed my arm muscles a bit. “Do you like what you see?”

“You have a nice body, Sir,” he said, “what I can see of it.”

“You want to see more?” I lowered my jeans to mid-thigh and turned sideways. “Look at this ass. Have you ever seen a finer ass on a man?”

I turned back and faced him directly. “You'd like to rub your little girl hands over my massive chest, wouldn't you?”

“I'd like that if you would, Sir.”

I took his little hand, placed it on my erect left nip, and rubbed it over my hairy pecs and rock hard abs. “Pretty nice, don't you think?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I moved his hand downward until it cupped my cock through my tighty whities.

“What are we doing, Sir?” he asked.

“We're determining who's who and what's what. Here you are, a scrawny naked kid, holding my cock in your hand. It must be obvious to you that I am superior to you in every way. I am more masculine than you are. I'm taller than you, I have bigger muscles than you, and my cock is way bigger than yours. Compared to me, you are puny and week; insignificant, really.

He looked at the floor.

“Do you know what's going on here, Boy?”

“I'm not sure, Sir, but I don't think I like it.”

“If you don't like it, you're free to go. There's the door.”

He was nonplussed. He looked from me to the door, then to the floor at his feet.

“Well. Are you going or not?”

“I don't know where to go, Sir,” he said at last. “Or what to do.”

“Sounds like a quandary to me,” I said.

When I spoke again, my voice was softer and reassuring. “Come here,”I said.

He slowly came to me. I wrapped my arms around him. “I may have been a little rough with you earlier,” I admitted. “Let's start over.” I pressed his soft cheek against my hairy chest.

“Do you like being here in my arms?” I asked.

“Yes, Sir,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

“It's warm and reassuring, isn't it?”

“Yes, Sir. It feels good”

“Well,” I said. “Let's get ready for bed. We can shower in the morning before we hit the road again.”

“OK, Sir,” he said.

I took off the rest of my clothes and got into the bed. The boy, however, had put his shorts back on. “Take those things off,” I told him.

“Do I have to, Sir?”

“You have to do whatever I tell you to do,” I said. He slowly pushed his shorts to the floor.

“That's better,” I said. “Now, you're ready to get into bed with me.” I turned off the bedside light, but there was enough ambient light coming through the windows to see things clearly.

When he was settled in his spot, I moved closer to him until our bodies touched. I sat up, removing the covers from both of us in the process. I began to lightly massage his thin shoulders.

“You like this?” I asked.

“Yes, Sir. It feels nice.”

I continued my massage down his body and rubbed his thighs. His dicklet got hard and rose from his pelvis. I took it in my mouth and sucked briefly.

“No, Sir,” he said. “I didn't like him and I didn't like sucking his cock.”

“But you'd like to suck my cock, wouldn't you?”

“I might like it,” he said.

“I think you would,” I responded.

When I guided his head to my crotch he took my cock into his warm mouth. My cock began to swell and lengthen. “It feels good already,” I told him. “Do it.”

He tightened his lips and lifted his head until only my glans was in his mouth. He made a fist around the base of my cock and licked its sensitive underside. “Fuck, yeah,” I exclaimed. “You're good.” And I let him suck for a few more minutes.

Then I pushed him down flat on his back. I straddled his chest until my cock was just inches away from his pretty face. I began jacking. “Lick my big man-balls,” I said. He licked my balls and worked his tongue behind my scrotum and passed it over my perineum again and again.

He began to jack his own little cock. I slapped his hand away. “What did I tell you about that? Didn't I tell you that you are not to jack your cock?”

I placed the head of my cock near his lower lip and shot a strong stream of white cum onto his tongue. Three more streams joined the pool that had collected in his mouth.

“Swallow,” I said. “Here comes more.”

He gulped my jizz and opened his mouth to accept the rest.

When I finished ejaculating I said, “Swallow it all. My cum is a gift from me to you. My balls made it. It coursed through my big cock and I shot it into you mouth. Did you like my gift?”

“Yes, Sir,” he said.

“What do you say when someone gives you a special gift?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“That's right,” I said. “You say 'Thank you'.” And I lowered my lips to his and kissed him gently.

“Now, open your mouth one more time. He did, and I squeezed the remaining cum from my piss tube and wiped it on his tongue. “Swallow, and then lick all the juices off my shaft. Get it all.”

When he finished licking my cock I checked to see that it was as clean as he could get it. I kissed him again and settled beside him on the bed. I pulled the covers over our reclining bodies, slid my arm under his shoulders and pulled him close. “Do you like lying in bed with me?”

“Yes, Sir,” he said.

“Do you think you'd like to lie with me in my bed again tomorrow night and maybe the night after that?”

“I don't know, Sir. I guess so.”

I kissed him one last time. “Let's sleep,” I said. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

We nestled down into the bed, the boy resting lightly in my arms. When I felt his body relax in sleep I allowed myself to drift off.

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I started writing erotic short stories for my own enjoyment when I retired a few years ago. Most settings and characters are drawn from my life experiences, but most events are exaggerations of reality or belong to what Kenneth Grahame called the world of what might have been.

I am an out gay man and recently married my partner of thirty years. He is not interested in reading my stories.